In the Long Run

I felt lonely and nostalgic lining up at the start without my good running buddy Dorothy, who is still recovering from a serious accident. The Turkey Trot is a race that we have often run together in the past.

The radio announcer on the megaphone shouted “Go!” and the small crowd took off down the road. Of course there were plenty of imprudent runners who began excitedly sprinting, only to slow considerably after about 400 yards with pants and gasps as they realized their pace was not feasible for four laps.

The Turkey Trot is a different sort of race: instead of trying to finish the fastest, the runners estimate their finishing times, and the winner is the person who comes closest to his predicted time. In years past I have always overestimated my time, but this year I thought it would be more accurate because I planned to just run at my normal training pace, which I can keep fairly consistently. No reason to get competitive, I thought. Ha!

I hadn’t run even a half a lap when I came up behind her. She was wearing blue running tights and a white top—my nemesis from last year’s Turkey Trot—Surrena. Last year, I hadn’t come upon Surrena until the last 100 yards of the race. At that time, I had moved to pass her, and suddenly she had shot out in front. I had sped up to catch her, but she had been too fast. She had beaten me by several yards. Surrena had been a star sprinter on the high school track team a few years ago, and she obviously could still perform.

This year Surrena was running side by side with a young man, and at a slightly slower pace than I. After running on their heels for about 200 yards, I passed them both. But within about 30 seconds, Surrena and partner passed me back, running considerably faster. I knew she recognized me, and I thought, “Fine. Let them run faster. I’m staying at my pace.”

But by the middle of the second lap, I was directly behind them again. I shadowed them through the end of lap three, and it seemed like her companion was tiring a bit. I could hear his heavy breathing, so I decided to pass them and pick up my pace. My strategy seemed to work, as I could hear his panting become fainter and fainter behind me. I was running faster now than in the first three laps, and knew I would be well under my predicted time. But I felt light on my feet, and I was only a half of a lap from the end, and decided to go for a good personal time, rather than my slower predicted time.

It happened again at about 100 yards to go. Suddenly and silently, Surrena was on my right, sans her partner, and she was running fast. I couldn’t just let her blow by me, so we began an out and out sprint to the finish. The high school track coach cheered us on, as we passed him, neck and neck.

With the finish line a mere 10 yards ahead, Surrena used her sprinter’s kick to surge forward into the chute just ahead of me. “You did it to me again!” I congratulated her afterward. “You’ve been working on your kick—nice job!” she complimented me graciously.

I wasn’t disappointed, and even felt satisfied. It was Thanksgiving, and I was thankful for many things…including that I could run almost as fast as a former high school sprinter.

Posted by Cyppy at 8:11 PM